no one heard the melancholy solo but himself.

"'The wolf's long howl on Oonalaska's shore' is not in it with that of
mine," said George Henry--for since his coat had become threadbare his
language had deteriorated, and he too frequently used slang--"but I'm
thankful that I alone hear my own. How different the case from what it
is when one's dog barks o' nights! Then the owner is the only one who
sleeps within a radius of blocks. The beasts are decidedly unlike."

Not suddenly had come all this tribulation to the man, though the final
disappearance of all he was worth, save some valueless remnants, had
been preceded by two or three heavy losses. Optimistic in his ventures,
he was not naturally a fool. Ill fortune had come to him without
apparent provocation, as it comes to many another man of intelligence,
and had followed him persistently and ruthlessly when others less
deserving were prospering all about him. It was not astonishing that he
had become a trifle misanthropic. He found it difficult to recover from
the daze of the moment when he first realized his situation.

The comprehension of where he stood first came to George Henry when he
had a note to meet, a note for a sum that would not in the past have
seemed large to him, but one at that time assuming dimensions of
importance. He thought when he had given the note that he could meet it
handily; he had twice succeeded in renewing it, and now had come to the
time when he must raise a certain sum or be counted among the wreckage.
He had been hopeful, but found himself on the day of payment without
money and without resources. How many thousands of men who have engaged
in our tigerish dollar struggle have felt the sinking at heart which
came to him then! But he was a man, and he went to work. Talk about
climbing the Alps or charging a battery! The man who has hurried about
all day with reputation to be sustained, even at the sacrifice of pride,
has suffered more, dared more and knows more of life's terrors than any
reckless mountain-climber or any veteran soldier in existence. George
Henry failed at last. He could not meet his bills.

Reason to himself as he might, the man was unable to endure his new
condition placidly. He tried to be philosophical. He would stalk about
his room humming from "The Mahogany Tree":

"Care, like a dun, stands at the gate.
Let the dog wait!"

and seek to get himself into the spirit of the words, but his efforts in
such dire